


Feeling

by Evenseven



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst?, M/M, No Beta, Or Is It?, Realization, Self-Denial, a bit of rough sex, and dirty talk, the angsty part is rather harmless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: Feeling wasn’t part of the deal.
Relationships: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Yes it's 2020 and yes I'm still shipping Vigbean. <3  
> If anyone's still on board plz reach out to me, I will warm your cold desert heart with some more vigbean love, ahem..  
> Sorry for my bad writing, I just love this ship too much...

Feeling wasn't part of the deal. 

Viggo made it clear enough to himself to be unspoken before he ever started shagging anyone from an ongoing project. Work was work, it's only work, but never had he crossed a line that wasn't supposed to be even getting close to.

But why was he feeling strange now?

Something odd like an uneven blade edge hidden under his skin, subtle yet screaming to breach his throat and urging for more. He couldn't put a name to it, or wouldn't dare to, not even when he clearly sensed the fire burning through his veins as Sean kissing his collarbone fiercely. It's lust, it's got to be that, nothing else, nothing more. Because he loved the way their bare skin touched, the way Sean's hot shaft pressed on his thigh, the way the Englishman's kisses became bites when they trailed down to his nipples. Viggo closed his eyes and let shut down his mind hopelessly, forgetting it was just another risky move, especially for someone like him. 

“Sean…” The name rolled off his lips oh so effortlessly, maybe he had been practicing this utterance repeatedly in his head, in an unhealthy way.

“What is it?” That Yorkshire accent could haunt him in reality or his dream, and Viggo would appreciate it either way. “Ya willing to beg now?” Here came the tease.

Oh that bastard knew Viggo would beg, he didn’t normally do but he would eagerly beg for something he’s desperate to get. Like that big cock of Sean inside him right now, or anything to be inside him, as long as that _anything_ belonged to Sean.

The Englishman pushed his legs further apart, fitting himself right between them, and his warm hand climbed up his warmer thighs. His shoulders pressed harder down the soft mattress of Sean’s apartment, where he had spent way too much time staying at, maybe in an unhealthy way too.

“Sean…” He murmured again, sensing the muscles on his low arms tensed up as he brought them closer to cover his eyes.

“Why…” Sean leaned in, a slippery and hot tongue touch that smooth patch of skin on his inner thigh, and he couldn’t help but spread his legs even wider open, “Why do ya do that?”

“Do what?” His throat dry and voice raspy, inhaling the urge of physical needs and breathing out to his tongue tip.

“Cover yer eyes,” Sean’s voice was dangerously low, beyond sexy like he always did in bed, “ya don’t wanta see me, or what?”

Viggo removed his arms instantly to that question, and grey-blue eyes fluttered open, staring into Sean’s green ones with a brave face. “Of course not,” a short pause, “it’s not like that.”

“Then why?” Those green orbs burned like roasting fire, a strong and wetted finger found its way to his entrance, teasing its way in.

“I…” Viggo tried to form a proper answer, an explanation of some sort that could satisfy his lover in arms, or just to satisfy himself. But the answer wasn’t coming out, and his chest filled with something so forceful and undeniable that he didn’t know how to express. 

“Don’t do that again,” one more finger coming in, stretching the secret tunnel a tad too rush, the displeased tone in the Englishman’s deep voice accompany with the weird sensation of being invaded, “I want ya to see me, feel me, not just any fucking crew member ya can fuck with.”

“You’re not, Sean, you’re not.” Here he was, wretchedly trying to defend himself, but maybe that’s the problem. This was not some random lovely guy or girl he could fuck with as a sensible adult. This was Sean bloody Bean.

“Yer not convincing enough,” that cold and distant tone never went away, “Mortensen, tell me this: who the fuck are you?”

Viggo stared into the darkness of the roof, blinking blankly to that question.

Sean moved to kiss his the hollow just above his collarbone, almost angry-like mumbling came out as he pressed the blunt head of his cock to his entrance. “Who do you think you are? Some seductive whore messing around with anyone ya see fitting for a quick fuck?” Those words hurt more than the pressure that split his body open, but not because of the vulgar disparagement, but the truth so plainly displaced in front of his eyes that were not willing to see. “And tell me, who the fuck am I? What am I to you now you nutter, am I good enough for more than a quick fuck?”

The thrust started shallow and slow, giving him more than enough time to adjust, but time was not something he needed right now. “God, Sean—” Viggo wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders and clung his legs on Sean’s waist, listening to his own voice shaking, “Please, more, please, I need—”

“Oh I know what ya need, and what yer tight arse needs,” Sean reply by speeding up his pounding hip, pulled out and slammed back harder inside him, “You beg beautifully, luv, and I just wanta ‘ear it.”

So he did, he begged Sean to fuck him harder into the mattress, begged him to bite down his already bruised skin even more, begged to touch himself, begged for something to ease the pain inside his chest, not on his body. 

But the pain was so intensive, a passionate force blocked his throat and strangled him arduously. The pain was strong enough to force a whimper out of him when he climaxed so desperately like a dumb teenage boy, clutching hard around Sean’s hot shaft in his ass and the Englishman whimpered as well.

Viggo closed his eyes, just then he remembered what Sean had said, so the dark fans of lashes flickered open nervously, only to find the younger man too lost in pleasure to notice his nerve. He let out a sigh as the warm body collapsed on his right hand side, carefully removed the condom and slid a hand to tangle his sweat-soaked sandy blond hair.

The moment of bliss was long and peaceful, he could never deny that sex with Sean was just brilliant, but it never eased the confusion and fear in his mind.

He shouldn’t be scared of the sex talk, he was no where near an innocent teenage boy after all. Yet something Sean just said unsettled him more than it should, and his never-so-obedient brain started wondering what was this all about. What was this odd, unfamiliar yet rich sensation every time Sean’s warm finger touched him, every time those crystal green eyes fell on him, and every time he called out Sean’s name? What had he done to himself and their relationship, and what kind of absentminded fucked-up he got himself into this time?

“Sorry,” Sean’s lazy after-sex voice pulled him back to reality for a moment, “shouldn’t call ya that, sorry Vig, didn’t mean it.”

What? Viggo turned his head slightly to catch a caring expression on that handsome face, it took him a second to comprehend his words. “Oh, no need to apologize. It ain’t bother me.”

As a matter of fact, he had been called so much worse during sex before. This thought made him want to chuckle, maybe he should tell Sean some of that experience, just as a funny story to pass time. Before he could utter anything, that rich English voice came again: “Ya feeling somethin’?”

_What?_

Viggo could sense himself visibly tensed up, every cell in his body screamed to flee. Do something, anything, as long as he could evade the question or any form of thinking related to that.

“Wh-what?” His breath shortened, titled his head to get away from those long fingers twisting his hair. It’s all too much right now, the warmth, the breath of another man, the confusion in those fascinating green eyes.

“I asked if yer feeling alright.” Sean repeated, and Viggo only blinked. Maybe it wasn’t what he thought at all, it was all in his head again, like it always was.

You’re fucking crazy after all, he cursed at himself silently, and they were right about you as always, your family and friends, the film crew you had worked with, the doctors and therapists you saw.

The panic under his skin that was supposed to die down didn’t depart, he gasped into the night air that filled with pomelo-scent aroma diffuser and sex. Something was choking him, drowning him, and he couldn’t even register the thing that was killing him.

“Vig?” Worry in Sean’s voice emerged quickly, Viggo realized he didn’t answer the question when he was supposed to, and it was so difficult to utter a word now he’s in panic. “Vig? Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Sean brought himself up to his elbows and leaned in to check on Viggo, he tried his best to resist and regain his breath. 

“N-no, no, I’m fine—I’m, eh, just tired,” He managed to find his hoarse voice at the end, stretching a fake smile even, “you know, it’s just your fat cock really worn me out, always does. I need a moment, that’s it.”

And what a fucking lair you are.

“Right…” Green eyes narrowed, but Sean didn’t pursuit any further, only laid down by him again, wrapping his arms to embrace him, and this time Viggo didn’t protest. Viggo calmed his breath the best he could, but the body temperature of Sean which he normally longed for didn’t help. Sean studied him for a moment, then he heard his name slipped through those beautiful thin lips: “Viggo, did I do something wrong?”

“No—no, Sean, you’re amazing, you truly are.” He blowed quietly, more to himself than to the Englishman.

It’s not you, he wanted to say, it’s me, I did something wrong. Something’s wrong with me the whole time and I dared not to admit.

Something about Sean kept him burning under and kept him calm at the same time. Maybe it’s the fresh lemongrass after-shave, maybe it’s the mixture of musk and everlasting cigarette smells on his skin, or maybe, it’s just simply the existence of Sean Bean himself. Viggo closed his eyes again, this time with tranquility, and let himself drift into the darkness with Sean’s comforting scent.

No, feeling was not part of the deal, and yes, he was definitely feeling something he shouldn’t.

-

-

I wish I could tell you my pain, Darling,  
the anguish thoughts that keep me awake  
but I have not the courage to admit  
I am weaker than I already was


End file.
